


In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle, the Professor Sleeps Tonight

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Caring, Heat Stroke, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Moran revisits India in search of tigers, Moriarty accompanies him, only for the pair to end up abandoned in the forest by their guides and with the professor suffering from heat exhaustion.</p><p>Based on the prompt: Moriarty and Moran lost in forest: Moriarty is absolutely useless and Moran has to do everything like get food, make a refuge...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle, the Professor Sleeps Tonight

   “That’s it, I positively refuse to go any further!” Moriarty announces, sitting down on a fallen log.

    “Fine then, I’ll go without you,” Moran calls over his shoulder.

    “I mean it!”

    This at least causes Moran to stop and glance back. “Don’t be daft.” This veteran of several ferocious and bloody campaigns, experienced tracker and highly competent big game hunter sighs. Dealing with an irritated, obstinate and sulky Professor Moriarty is an infinitely worse prospect than facing murderous heathens or ferocious beasts.

    “I am not being ‘daft’, I am being practical.”

    “What, sitting on your arse waiting to die is practical?”

   “You are lost, Moran, and I refuse to continue following you when you are clearly going around in circles.”

    “No I ain’t.”

    “This is the third time I have seen this tree!”

    “Professor.” Moran pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose, carefully pondering his next words. “It’s a bloody tree, they’re all bloody trees, they all look alike. Look, look!” He gestures from one large tree to the next. “They have trunks, they have branches, they have sodding leaves, they’re _trees_! We are not lost, we are not going round in circles, I know what I’m doing.”

    “Hm.” Moriarty sniffs disdainfully.

    “What?”

    “If you knew what you were doing perhaps you wouldn’t have insisted on coming here in the first place.”

    “I didn’t bloody make you come!” Moran points out. “I just wanted to come and revisit a few old haunts, it was your decision to come along too.”

    “Well you should have tried harder to discourage me instead of thinking with your loins and deciding it would be marvellous to bring me along.”

    “For fuck’s sake.” Moran looks briefly as if he is about to punch the professor in the face, which would probably result in Moriarty killing him in retaliation but might well be worth it. But he doesn’t hit him, of course, not just because it’s the _professor_ but because the man is clearly being badly affected by the heat, humidity and perhaps also simply the generally rather oppressive sense of being in this forest with its seemingly endless vista of trees and more trees with only a few smaller bushes for variety.

     Moriarty may be his master but Moran is the one who understands such situations best, who knows how to survive in hostile terrain and keep his men in order, not merely enforcing discipline but soothing frayed nerves, keeping up morale, ensuring men who are terrified and desperate can hold it together. Here then the colonel must be in charge if he wants to get them out of this place alive and well. Of course, he reflects grimly, it might help if Moriarty hadn’t argued with the guides (about precisely what, Moran still has no idea) and caused them to bugger off and take most of their equipment and supplies with them during the night, or if the professor hadn’t then trodden on Moran’s compass and broken it earlier. It would also be nice if the professor deigned to carry something more than their lightweight blankets, but Moriarty _is_ looking rather flushed and unwell so perhaps it is best not to overburden him. Moran is further concerned about Moriarty’s state of mind. Moran is still adamant that they are not going round in circles so the professor is evidently just imagining things when he insists they have repeatedly passed this exact same tree multiple times today.

    The colonel holds out his hand to his companion. “Come on, Professor,” he coaxes. “You can’t just sit there.”

    Moriarty looks at Moran’s hand disinterestedly. “My feet hurt,” he says.

    “Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to walk a bit further still. I can hardly carry you as well as all this.” Moran sets down his heavy load momentarily, seeing as Moriarty seems to be intent on going nowhere fast.

    “And I’m thirsty.”

    “Here, you finish this.” Moran holds out the water bottle to him. There is not much left in it but Moriarty seems to need it more than he does, and perhaps they will at least come across some more fresh water shortly. He is sure he can hear running water in the distance, unless he is starting to become delirious in the heat himself and is also imagining things.

    He dabs grimy sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief while Moriarty drinks. “Better?” he asks when the professor has emptied the bottle.

    “I’m hungry,” says Moriarty in a small, frail, almost childlike voice.

    Moran sighs. 

~

   Moran was correct in thinking he could hear running water. Here they are by the side of the stream, which is a very positive sign even though now it is starting to get dark. If they follow the stream then there is no way they can go round in circles (even though Moran is sure they have _not_ been doing so already, whatever Moriarty keeps insisting now about that particular tree with the lump on it that looks rather rude – something which proved to be a source of much hilarity to the professor) and it will soon lead them back to civilisation. That may well have to wait until tomorrow though as the professor seems to be in no state to continue walking tonight.

    After splashing his hands and face with water, Moriarty has settled himself with his back against a tree trunk (one without any phallic appendages), apparently refusing to move any further tonight. They have been walking for many hours though so perhaps it is best to rest for a time, or at least perhaps it is best to let Moriarty rest for a time while Moran does all the hard work of putting up their tent. The professor would only get in the way though, he is certain, so Moran leaves him to doze in the shade while he assembles the tent. This done, he goes down to the stream and takes a long drink of the clean, cool water before washing his face with it. Only then can he think about food. Out of their supplies only some rather hard biscuits and tinned meat remains, all the good stuff having been stolen by the treacherous guides - hardly highly appetising fare but needs must. They are not yet at the stage where Moran is going to have to go off and find something to kill and eat (probably for the best as he has little expectation of Moriarty staying put and not wandering off and getting himself hopelessly lost in Moran’s absence) though he is able to supplement their meal with some berries from a nearby bush which he is certain are not poisonous. This does not however stop the professor from eyeing them suspiciously when Moran presents them to him after he has nibbled at one of the biscuits and some meat.

    “Are you trying to poison me, Moran?” he enquires, squinting at the colonel.

    “If I wanted you dead I’d shoot you,” Moran points out mildly as he stands peering up through the trees.

    “You are not eating them.”

    “I will in a bit.”

    “Hmm.”

    “Just eat them, sir, you’ll feel better if you eat more.”

    “Better dead?”

    “They won’t hurt you.”

    Moriarty puts some of the berries into his mouth and chews slowly, wearing a suspicious look all the while.

    “I reckon a storm’s coming in,” Moran remarks.

    “A storm?”

    “You should probably come inside the tent, sir.”

    “So you can murder me?”

    “I can murder you quite easily where you are.”

    “So you _do_ wish to murder me.” Moriarty looks absolutely delighted at having seemingly proven his point.

    Moran rolls his eyes. With the professor apparently growing more delirious from heat exhaustion though perhaps it is less stressful simply to agree with him. “Yes, sir, you’ve got me, I want to murder you, but I’d prefer to do it out of the rain.”

    “Very sensible.” Moriarty stands up and, wobbling slightly, walks towards the tent.

    Moran carefully guides him to sit down on a blanket. “Here, sir, drink some more water.” He holds the cup to the professor’s lips, helping him to slowly sip it, watching his face intently all the while.

    This is no place for the professor, out in the wilds, at the mercy of nature. The professor’s world is one of academia, of classrooms, vast libraries full of obscure tomes and lecture theatres with their row upon row of wooden benches polished smooth by so many students’ bottoms. Of course danger is no alien thing to him in his other line of work but foreign climates, thick forest, jungles, wild animals, these are not the things the professor is equipped to deal with. Moran has absolutely no idea why Moriarty even wanted to accompany him. He is not even sure any more why he himself wanted to come. Yes he wanted to seek out a tiger again, not even to kill it necessarily, just to see one that isn’t skinned and used as a hearthrug, or one half-dead behind the eyes as it paces in a cage in the zoo, but now he’s here… well even before the guides cleared off he was starting to wish he hadn’t bothered to come. India is part of his old life, his past, not his present. His present is to be with the professor, by his side through thick and thin, no matter where he goes; they belong together.

     _Together_ , he realises, as indeed they are here, with Moriarty suffering so badly in the heat, far more so than Moran ever has, and having no real interest in tigers or in India yet so adamant that he wanted to come with Moran as if… as if he too would prefer to be with Moran rather than apart from him?

    “Professor.” Moran brushes Moriarty’s cheek. His skin feels hot, clammy, but Moriarty now fixes him with a look that seems clearer and less confused than any he has given Moran during the rest of the day. “Why did you want to come with me, really?”

    Moriarty shrugs slightly. “It seemed… an interesting proposition, to experience a part of your past.”

    “We shouldn’t have come.”

    “Perhaps not. I’m afraid I have to say, from what I have seen of it, I despise India.”

    “I’m sorry, sir.”

    “It is not your fault.”

    “We haven’t even seen a single trace of any bloody tigers.” Moran laughs bitterly, half-thinking that in saying this he is tempting fate and inviting a tiger to suddenly pop its head around the tent opening, but no, a tiger just as stubbornly fails to materialise now as it has during the rest of the trip. Still, he will keep his rifle to hand until they get back to a nice comfortable hotel room, just in case.

    “They probably heard you were coming and decided to leave.” Moriarty chuckles softly as he nuzzles closer to Moran, resting his head against Moran’s shoulder.

    “I will get us out of here, no matter what,” Moran promises, his tone fierce. “I will, sir.”

    “I know you will. I have always…” Moriarty yawns vigorously. “…had confidence in you.” He closes his eyes as above their heads, beyond the confines of the tent, thunder rumbles distantly.

    “Early tomorrow, when you’ve rested up a bit, when this storm’s passed over, we’ll follow the stream and it’ll lead us back to the village.”

    “Mm.”

    “You sleep now, Professor. I’ll stay up just to keep an eye on things.”

    “Mm.”

    Moran gently manoeuvres the professor to lie down, resting his head upon a rolled up blanket. It is very tempting to lie down beside him and snuggle close against him, but best not to. He will sit up and keep watch, protecting his professor from any potential harm.

    Outside rain begins to patter down, dripping through the leaves, spattering onto the tent, though inside the pair remain safe and dry. Moran, true to his word, remains seated, listening to the rain and to Moriarty’s soft, steady breathing, watching and waiting, whilst beside him the professor sleeps soundly.


End file.
